


Oh Cr*p!

by Agent C (arh581958)



Category: Avengers Academy (Video Game), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: 10yearsofcapim, Alpha!Steve, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Fingering, BINGO!, Consent, Fairy Tale Elements, Fairy Tale Parody, Gay Sex, Happy Ending, Heat Sex, Jealous!Steve, M/M, Rimming, STONY Bingo 2018, Sex, Smut, Stony - Freeform, Stony Bingo, Stony Fairytale Bingo 2018, Tony likes to fib, anal penetration, bottom!tony, capimanniversarybingo, challenge: bingo, challenge: fairy tale, heat - Freeform, omega!Tony, top!steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 22:20:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14090940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arh581958/pseuds/Agent%20C
Summary: Tony Stark has a bad habit of lying about his heats--whether he has it or doesn't have it. He's just trying to use his nature to his advantage. But, what if one day, he actually needs help for it?(Prequel to:Go Time!)





	Oh Cr*p!

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Go Time!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6912373) by [Agent C (arh581958)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arh581958/pseuds/Agent%20C). 



> I wrote this bad-boy in two days. Damn. My brain wants to rest but I've got more stories to write. 
> 
> **Warning** : Not Beta Read. Open to volunteers.

Being friends with Tony Stark sometimes (note: _often_ ) felt like babysitting a giant 5”5’ kid. In Steve’s case, _friends_ seem like a relative term. Sure, they are in the same school, know the same circles, and sometimes are sent on the same mission. They aren’t exactly friendly—disagreeing on everything, even things as minor as; which is better red or blue, unimportant things really. But, they make one hell of a team when needed and that’s what mattered.

The Avengers Academy divides its students into five buildings; Tech, Science, Cosmic, Mystic, and Physical. It all depends on a students’ main attribute—or, at least, that’s what Director Fury says. No one really knows exactly how they’re sorted but they abide by it.

Now, Tony and Steve come from different worlds.

Tony is the self-proclaimed king of Tech Building. He thinks he’s the smartest. Really, he’s not. He might be an omega but he’s got enough charisma to pull it off. Other students don’t really care to challenge him for the title anyway for as long as Tony can balance the greater interest of the population—which is most of the time since tech rely on innovations and he’s got the money to fund it.

Steve, on the other hand, is the elected president of the Science Building, mostly due to the super soldier serum mixed into his blood. That and the fact that he is an alpha makes him the most logical choice. He thinks the title should go to Bruce or Janet though; they’re talented, smart, and charismatic but neither of them want the role—too much politics and too little time for actual science. Hence, Steve’s stuck with it.

As for the other buildings, the leaders are as follows; Thor for the Cosmic, Stephen for the Mystic, and Natasha for the Physical. Second-genders didn’t really matter much; Thor, being an alien/god, didn’t have a second-gender; Stephen is an alpha; and Natasha is a beta. What did matter is that the student representatives, well, represented their peers during the council meetings with Fury—which is today, err, now.

Or rather, it should have started fifteen minutes ago.

“Where the _fuck_ is Stark and Rogers?!” Fury demands, vein threatening to pop over his one good eye. “How the hell are the Avengers supposed to save the goddamn world if you can’t even fucking assemble on time!”

The trio in the room might have giggled, fake-coughed, or sorted. They might have not. They’re young super-secret heroes-in-training and it’s expected that they can hold their poker faces better.

What’s expected and what’s reality are two very different things.

“Romanov,” Fury bars, glaring at all three of them. Despite only addressing Natasha, his unspoken order for silence is clear. The three straighten up; though, it’s evident from the way Thor flinches loudly that Natasha stealthily delivered a foot to his shin below the table. Stephen doesn’t hold in his snicker then and swiftly gets the same treatment.

“Damn it, Natasha!”

Natasha ignores them. She lowers her phone and replies to Fury with mock innocence, “Sir.”

Fury reevaluates for a second why he thoughts making a school of super-powered teenager is _such_ a brilliant idea, then dismisses the thought just as quickly, “Do your spy thing and track’em.”

“On it, sir,” she says, tapping buttons on her phone in lightning speed.

“By ‘ _track-em’_ does one mean to locate Tony and Steve?” Thor asks innocently from the side, hands protectively under the table to shield his shins from any under-table assaults.

Stephen takes pity on him. “Yes, it does.”

At the same time, Natasha announces, “Roger’s is off. Stark’s put up a new firewall. I’m going to try and crack it.”

“Perhaps I can offer my assistance,” Stephen suggests, one hand already reaching for his forehead and the other drawing a circle in the air. “I’ll search for their chakra and determine their location.”

The vein on Fury’s forehead throbs even harder. Why, oh why, did he pick teenagers again?

“I believe friend Tony has his heat today,” Thor informs them.

“What?!” Several fingers pop and crack when Fury squeezes his fist. “He isn’t supposed to have a—”

“Got it.”

“Found them.”

Natasha and Stephen say simultaneously, “They’re—” 

“—ready to get the party started!” Tony declares as he’s literally being carried over Steve’s shoulder when they enter the room. “Hey, yeah, I know it looks pre-historic caveman-ish but I assure you that it’s… maybe 99.9% consensual. I mean, duh, meetings, who wants to attend them but, psft, sponserbiyerties.” He then goes about greeting each of the assembled avengers, extending his hand. “Tasha, my main man, err, woman spider widow spy agent—ress. Stephen, super secret science magic bros! Thor, how’s the hair commercial?”

Only Thor offers his hand back, smiling brightly. “Good to see you’re feeling better! Commercial, what is that? But, yes, friend Tony, my hair is strong and silky. Though I fail to understand how this is relevant in this discussion.”

“Really, it’s not but I’m amazed how it doesn’t get tangled when we’re on a mission. And, err, about the thing I told you earlier, yeah, well, turns out I don’t really have it.” Tony answers just as Steve heaves him onto the chair beside Natasha. He blows fake-kisses faces as Steve settles beside him. “Big thankies Stevie-poo. Ya know I always got hot under the suit when you manhandle me like I’m a ragdoll.”

“Tony…” Steve hides his face behind his large hands. His voice clearly makes it obvious how _not_ unaffected he is by Tony’s omega voice.

 “Just fuck already,” Natasha indiscreetly mutter under her breath, making Steve blush even harder.

That’s it. That’s enough. Fury has had it.

“Alright, _children_ ,” he growls, now with two veins throbbing, “Settle your goddamn knots and let’s get to business. Rogers, why the fuck are you two late?”

“Language,” Steve replies automatically then quickly adds, “uhm, uh, sir. My apologies. I had to get Tony, then the battery on my communicator died.”

Tony flicks a scrap of paper he’s torn from his meeting outline at Fury’s nearly-popping vein. “Relax, so I may have exaggerated the cramps a little. Sorry. Can’t really blame me for trying to milk all those stupid gender biases to my advantage, right? I mean, what’s the use of being an omega if I can’t use it to excuse myself from doing boring stuff. But, I’m here. Good ol’ captain alpha here got and fetched me. Can we move this along? I’ve got weapons testing with Brucie-bear at two o’clock.”

Serious, Fury may need to rethink the whole teenager thing.

“STARK!”

***

Everybody tries to skip training during Friday. One, because it’s Friday. Well, duh. It doesn’t take a genius to realize why everybody skips gym on _Fridays_. Two, because, for this particular Friday, they have a cross-training on Fridays.

While the Academy normally disagrees with gender-segregation, it recognizes that teenagers are still going through puberty; therefore, the would-be heroes still do not have full control of their scents, hormones, and their reactions to them. Gym Training is one of the few classes normally segregated by second gender as a protective measure against adrenaline-induced haze.

Cross-training days, which brings all genders together once a week, are on Fridays.

As usual, everybody tries to skip. Okay, well, maybe not _everyone_. There’s a handful of people—inhumans, really, or just masochistic by nature—who love getting down, dirty, and sweaty. _Try_ also being the key term because not everybody succeeds.

Tony stumbles into the infirmary with Peter aka Star-Lord (or so he likes to call himself). Peter needs the self-title. There’s just too many Peters running around the campus. One of them is supercool with lots of ultra-amazing superhuman abilities, and the other was bitten by a radioactive spider. It’s easy to guess which one is Star-Lord.

“…and then, I’m like _I think I’m feeling a little too hot_ , and it’s genius! Because I programmed the bots to always— _always_ going to diagnose pre-heat symptoms to any omega who says it. It’s the perfect get-away plan for Fridays!”

Tony’s voice echoes the space. It’s relatively small given the number of students currently enrolled but it serves it purpose. Located underneath the bleacher of the Ragnarok Station, it provides top-quality medical care that combines Asguardian and Midguardian technology. 

Peter laughs rowdily as they stumble merrily towards two medical beds near the end. There’s a total of six but the curtains of the first bed are drawn.

“It’s totally awesome You’re the fuckin’ boss, dude—the wickedest omega of us all—a true champ! Now, we can lie down and chill some,” he says, lying down and placing his side-arm on the space beside him.” All the pheromones out there’s grody, man. I tell you. I thought I was gonna hurl for sure. Or deck someone with this new thingamajig that I nabbed from Rocket the other day. Check it out!”

Peter reaches for the Javelin and points it at a random wall. “Pow pow!”

“Woah!” Tony says, reaching for the gun and pointing it upward. “Nice try slick, but you know better than to point Rocket’s _anything_ , well, _anywhere_. I might be a genius but that racoon’s cooky-crazy is on a whole galaxy away at least my tech is earth-safe… err… for now.”

“Hmpf, fine. You really need to take a chill pill, Tony. You’re starting to sound like a certain tall blond all-american alpha. He’s got you wrapped around his fucking knot.” Reluctantly, Peter stows the weapon away with an eyeroll. “What’s the deal with you and the Cap, anyway. You two go horizontal yet? ‘Cause, bro… even Groot can sense something and he’s as dumb as a, well… technically he _is_ a tree humanoid thing. But, it’s Groot!”

Tony hides his embarrassment by walking to his own bed, back purposely turned to Peter. “Oh, please, I’ve got more luck getting into Roberta’s mini-shorts rather those old-fashioned jeans. Gross just gross. Why couldn’t you pick someone sexier like Janet or dreamy like Brian ‘Captain Britain’ Braddock, huh? Of course, you had to go for Mr. Annoyingly Perfect with annoyingly perfect teeth.”

“Daaaang,” Peter whistles, “You got it _bad_ , Tony, so bad. Why don’t you just hit the rewind and just listen to yourself back there—oh, wait! I can do that for you! Here.” A cassette tape recorder from the forgotten 80s magically comes out from one of Peter’s many pockets. He fiddles with the ancient thing, then sure enough Tony’s disembodied voice replays.

“… _Mr. Annoyingly Perfect with annoyingly perfect teeth_ — _Annoyingly Perfect with annoyingly perfect teeth_ — _perfect_ _with annoyingly perfect teeth_ — _perfect with perfect teeth_ —”

“Hey!” The real Tony exclaims. “I didn’t say that! How’d you manipulate my voice?”

Peter smirks and presses another button.

“ _I said that Steve’s Mr. Perfect with perfect teeth,_ ” says the recorder in Tony’s voice, which Peter repeats in a seemingly endless loop.

Tony’s beet red. “Quill, you motherfucking asshole. I swear to Thor that I will hack into your room’s assess pad, mess with the settings, _and_ …” he pauses dramatically, finger coming up as if to threaten, “I’m going to record over your Mix-tape with 2018’s Top Global Hits. Then you’ll have to listen to all the crappy music to the present. Don’t test me. I’m going to fucking do it.”

If there’s one thing that Tony and Peter shared, it’s their sacred bond as _Really Good Music Bros_. Peter knows, as much as Tony, how all the great music ended with the late 80s. Nothing could be more precious.

“You wouldn’t…” Peter retorts, but Tony’s already browsing through his phone.

“Ah-ah-aahah!” Tony exclaims, then the earlier mentioned music chart projects via hologram from his StarkPhone. “Let’s see… Havana, Pscycho, Love Lies—oh! Sick Boy by the Chainsmokers. You’re gonna love them. Or maybe Kendrick Lamar’s more your style?”

Peter pales. “That’s fuckin’ A, even for you. Dick move.”

Tony sticks out his tongue. “Well you started it, dipstick—ahh, fuck. Now you have me talking in this ridiculous 80s slang. Bleh. Total barf bag. Fuck shit. I’m still doing it. I seriously need to get better friends I’ll get all your outdated lingo if we keeping chillin’—ack! There it is again. Dammnit, Peter! And, it’s all because you—”

The infirmary door opens, and Steve walks in with a flushed Peggy in his arms.

“What are you two doing here, Stark, Quill? We’ve got training,” he says, voice surprisingly a little tight.

Peggy’s sweet pre-heat scent immediately wafts into the room, instantly overwhelming for Tony and Peter even if they’re both omegas. They can’t imagine how it must be for Steve when they realized that he must have carried her all the way from the main battle arena. The journey’s a good half-kilometer with all the maze-like corridors.

“Peggy’s going into heat,” Peter says dumbly.

Tony gives him a _well duh_ face, then turns to Steve. “Hurry, get her on a bed and sedated. I think there’s suppressants unless you both wanna fuck-it-out.” He knows the drill—it’s sedate and suppress, unless the omega in question already has an alpha to help them through it. Only the bots and the staff have access to those records.

“Tony, language!” Steve chastises, going red. He follows Tony’s instructions regardless and places Peggy on the bed across from Peter.

Tony hops off his bed in the middle and starts rummaging through the cabinet. “Of course, you got to be her Mr. Knight in Shining Armor too. Stupid fucking alpha,” he mutters underneath his breath bitterly until he finds the bottle of pills. Then, his thoughts drift back to the alpha of the hour. “Why’d you have to be so goddamn perfect?”

“Tony?” Steve asks from behind him.

Tony jumps back in surprise. “Woah, there Capsicle. Aren’t you standing a bit too close for comfort?” He thrusts the magenta-colored bottle just to put some distance between them. A thin layer of sweat shines on Steve’s skin, melting away the Academy’s hulk-grade neutralizers. His scent—a rich crisp clean scent of soap. Tony can’t put a finger on it but it smells just like home.

Steve keeps his stance, slightly leaning forward. “Tony.”

“Err… look, I’m not the one going into heat here, Cap. You shouldn’t be scenting me. Your Peggy-gal’s right there… speaking of which…” Tony eyes the pills in Steve’s clenched.

“Aren’t you?”

The question catches him off-guard. Well, shit, shit, and double-triple shit.

“Well, err…” Tony rattles, unconsciously stepping back but his posture goes completely submissive.

“Stark Tony isn’t in heat, Captain Rogers Steve. He’s faking it. The StarkBots are programmed to help him sneak away.” says Mantis, who’s sitting down on the occupied bed with the curtains partly-drawn. “I’ve been resting but I sensed Carter Peggy’s distress. She is in pain. Would you like me to help her?”

Her sudden appearance breaks the pair’s tiny bubble.

Steve replies first, nodding. “Yes, please, uhm…” it takes a moment for him to register the bottle in his hand. “This—,” he says shakily, “Give her this please. Peter, catch.” The bottle arches in the air and lands neatly on Peter’s bed. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to be any closer.”

Mantis does as she’s told and goes to comforting Peggy.

“500 to Captain Obvious,” Tony snorts mockingly, trying to hide his embarrassment. It’s useless though. Once he noticed the deep-seated itch, it becomes much harder to ignore. “Get out of here, Rogers. Let the omegas handle it. The bots will know what to do. Way to hold your ground, soldier. Not every alpha would have been as strong.”

 “Of course, he is,” teases Peter, “Steve’s Mr. Perfect Alpha. All the omegas are slicking for him.”

If looks could kill, Tony’s daggers would have stabbed Peter maybe a thousand times over. He keeps his mouth shut though—which is a feat in itself given that his mouth runs with an engine of its own.

Despite being over six-feet-tall, Steve blushes down to his uniform. “I’m going back,” he says shakily, then flees the infirmary like the avengers are assembling.

Once the omegas and Mantis are alone, Tony mimes a cassette player with his hands.

“Gone,” he declares with finality, “I’m recording One Direction.”

Peter’s loud resounding cry of desperation scares away the crows.

***

Mission day comes the following Wednesday, smack in the middle of the week when it’s not quite Monday anymore but still not yet Friday. A small group of five infiltrates the Hydra-run pharmaceutical company and retrieve the information with minimal damage. The whole thing takes less than a day to complete and they’re back on base before sundown.

They might all be super heroes—well, super heroes _in training_ to be exact—but they’re all also just teenagers. Mid-week blues exist. Tony, Steve, Clint, Brian, and Jane drag their feet into tower for the debrief without the luxury of a pre-debriefing shower. Thank god for the swarm of roombas that obsessively trail behind the team, cleaning in a frenzy.

As the team leader for this mission, Brian’s leading the debriefing with Pepper and the team. Pepper, being a consummate professional, has set-up the meeting room to utmost perfection—interactive hologram table, energy drinks and water, and a full pantry with a suspicious platter of scones that look like they were baked by Phil Coulson. The tasty treats always seem to be available when Clint’s in attendance.

“Oh jolly! What fine biscuits in the trolley. Take your fill, all, I say we all deserve it for a mission well-accomplished! I’ll give you five minutes to settle yourself while I update the data on the server,” says the British alpha.

Clint bounces from his chair in glee, beelining for the scones without second thoughts. First, he picks up half a dozen but then abruptly changes his mind and switches his half-filled plate for the platter instead. Jane makes herself the biggest cup of earl grey tea (a pint) before taking the first seat on the right, across from Tony. Tony’s already tinkering away, half his armor on the table in front of him.

“Move the junk, Futurist,” greets Clint as he sits down beside Tony, offering his platter of scones as he goes, “Eat up. They’re filled with apples like small bite-sized apple pie! Weird but yummy like pizza, except nothing’s better than pizza. Maybe someone can invent pizza-flavored scones? That would be the best thing ever!”

“Excuse you, Legolas, this isn’t junk. It’s the best tech available on campus. Now, shut it, can’t you see I’m genius-ing here?”

“Don’t be rude, Tony. Clint’s only trying to be friendly,” Steve chastises, settling in. He may have chosen the seat beside Jane but he places a bottle of freshly squeezed pineapple juice in front of Tony. “If you won’t eat, at least drink. I didn’t see you eat much during lunch.”

Clint retrieves his platter with a small pout. “See, Starkie, Steve does care… but, sheesh, man, what’s got your panties in a twist? You sure that powdery thing in the lab didn’t get you? Or is it your cycle already? It should be like—” he counts the days by eating scones until his mouth is stuffed like a chipmunk. He keeps talking though, spilling crumbs everywhere “—two or three weeks more. We synced the last time. Mine hasn’t hit yet.”

Tony pauses to think about it. “Relax, Robin Hood, the suit filtered the worse of it. And, no, it’s not my time of the month, thank you very much,” he says with sarcasm, then thinks out loud, “I’m pretty regular. One heat every three months like clockwork, four times in a year. Not more, not less. JARVIS keeps track of it. He usually gives me a warning about a week in advance so I have time to secure the lab properly.”

“Spoken like a true genius,” Jane says over her steaming cup of tea. “Having a reminder always helps. Imagine being sent on a mission right before it hits. I may not be as sensitive to scents and pheromones but it’s a small price to pay so that I don’t have to deal with that sort of thing. Period pains are enough, thank you very much. Bless omega women for they maybe suffer twice as bad.”

“May the Lord bless them,” Brian agrees solemnly. “Now, let’s commence the meeting. I want through mission objectives and parameters, what went right, then what went wrong. After, I’d like to brainstorm quickly about how we can foreplan to lessen our mistakes. Steve, let’s start with you.”

Steve’s back becomes ramrod straight. Despite Tony and Jane being oblivious, it doesn’t go unnoticed by Clint’s sharp eyes that Cap’s finger minutely tightens on the table before he speaks. As the only two alphas on the team, both with aliases of captain to boot, it’s not surprising that Steve and Brian butted heads. They try to keep it respectable though, but not always—especially when Tony’s on the team.

It also doesn’t help that Tony is completely oblivious to the attention. He laughs and flirts, and basically treats everyone with the same carefree attitude no matter where they came from. That’s one of the reasons why people tend to flock to him. He’s got too many issues of his own that has no time to judge others. He takes everything in stride and just doesn’t _notice_ how Brian leans towards their side of the table even if it’s Jane who is now talking.

There might be other things occupying Tony’s mind today though.

“Tony-boy, you sure you’re okay?” Clint asks after his presentation. Tony’s up next. Normally, he’ll be firing off a thousand words per minute by now but Clint needs to actually shake him for a response.

 “Yeah, I’m fine, Merida. Just got a bit distracted by tall, hot, and British over here.  Have I ever told you that I tool a class in LSE once? The accents are super sexy.” Tony shrugs off the concern and hides his discomfort by winking in Brian’s direction.

“Tony,” Steve warns darkly from across the table.”

“Ease up the bark there,” Brian cautions, bodily leaning into the space between Tony and Steve. “A little more and that’s second-gender sexual harassment. Don’t act as though your Tony’s alpha.”

Tony chuckles awkwardly, bringing the attention back to himself. “It’s just mindless flirting, Steve-o. I do it all the time. It’s like second-nature to my omega-nature. A’s and O’s. Birds and Bees—well, what the hell am I talking about,” he leans back with a frown, sheen of sweat clear on his skin. “JARVIS! Bring out our data please.”

“Of course, Tony,” the AI’s disembodied voice answers. The rooms automatically darken and several holograms and statistics appear over the table. JARVIS then proceeds to systematically read out the information analysis gathered from Tony’s suit.

It also, evidently, dissipates the tension—at least for now.

*******

The very same night, three sharp raps on the window wake Steve in the middle of the night. His shield is ready in an instant, waiting to incapacitate his unknown assailant. When the rap comes again, stronger than the last, his whole-body readies for the imminent strike… in three, two, one—

“Tony!?” Steve reels back, the edge of his shield an inch away from Tony’s raised gauntlet.

“Woah, hey—hey, down boy,” Tony’s disembodied voice sounds staticky behind the helmet. “Nearly took a finger off. Mind putting the big shiny frisbee away?”

Steve hooks it back as the headboard. “Tony, it’s like what—” he glances at the wall-clock behind tony, “—nearly two in the morning. What are you doing breaking lights-out protocols? In an untested armor no less! Did you learn from the last time you nearly fell out of the sky? Christ, you reckless omega, I almost didn’t recognize you. What if I hurt you?”

“Yeah, well…” Tony makes an aborted hand motion to scratch the back of his head but realizes that his astronaut-esque suit hinder it. He rocks on his feet, heavy metal clunking against the reinforced tiles floors. “Super strength or no super strength. This _is_ designed for space travel so I doubt that you would have hurt me _that bad_. Maybe I’ll get some bruising at worse but nothing major. This things pretty hulk-proof too.”

“Why are you here?” Steve asks, running hands through his hair as he collapses onto his messy bed. Thank god for army basic. Too many pranks were played on unsuspecting new recruits in the bunks. Now, he wears a shirt and sweats to sleep now instead of only his underwear.

Again, Tony fidgets which is very unlike him.

Steve simply waits.

“Err, well, I kind of need you to hide me,” Tony says finally.

Steve crosses his arms. “Excuse me, what?”

“I need you to hide me,” Tony repeats, sounding a little desperate, voice between pleading and whiny. “For like, uhh, three to four days. Five, max.” But, Steve still doesn’t look convinced so Tony stammers on, “Look, you don’t even have to do anything. I’ll be good. I promise. I’ll just stay here, in a corner, with my suit and not talk. You can just pretend like I’m not here.”

“You? Not talk.” Steve snorts, “Puh-lease, you don’t expect me to believe that, right? You wouldn’t last five minutes without running your mouth.”

Tony flips Steve the metallic bird.

“Watch me,” he announces, stomping into a corner. He tries several ways to sit down but his suit restricts the motions, and ends up standing—more like half-leaning—against the wall beside Steve’s desk.

“Seriously?” Steve groans, twisting to look at Tony.

True to his word, Tony remains silent.

Steve exhales heavily. Remember what he said in the beginning about Tony and babysitting? This, right here, might be example two-hundred and twenty-three or something. For all his genius in the world, Tony can get really stubborn when he wants to. Sometimes, it’s for the greater good, but sometimes it for his own detriment. The latter is something that Steve refuses to allow.

“So, you expect me to just let you skip school _and_ training for a week?”

Tony shrugs, or at least he seems to. It’s hard to tell with the suit.  

“Tony…” He says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Tony, come on, I thought we got past this. Are you just going to keep on ignoring me too until you get what you want? We’re nineteen and not twelve.”

Nothing still.

Steve has indomitable will not the patience of a saint. He punches his shield in annoyance then abruptly stomps over to Tony. In his suit, Tony towers over Steve may a few inches but that doesn’t deter the alpha one bit. Steve’s fingers reach for the latch under the faceplate’s jaw and pulls the manual release before Tony has a chance to form words.

“Steve, no, wait, don’t—t!”

The air-tight seal discharges with a hiss, Tony’s scent along with it.

Steve’s eyes grow wide, frozen. “You’re—you’re in heat.”

“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock, way to point out obvious,” Tony glares plasma-rays at the alpha. If looks could kill, Steve would have been vaporized. He’s red-faced and sweaty, bangs sticking to his forehead like they’d been in battle. Within seconds, he too catches the full-impact of being inside a room saturated in Steve’s scent. “Fuck.”

More and more of Tony’s rich coffee and grease scent flood Steve’s cramped room. Steve’s smelled some pretty nice scents in his life. There’s even a couple of omegas there were near or in the cusp of heat but never anything as rich or enticing as this. Tony smells goddamn perfect.

 “No,” Steve declines tightly, hands clenching into fists. “ _Goddamnit_ , Tony, why didn’t you tell me?”

Tony pins Steve down with a blazing look. Unlike his normal carefree ones, this one has an underlying of _something_ that Steve can’t name. It’s fierce and feral and challenging, in all the ways that only a handful of omega avengers can achieve. For some reason, it strikes Steve twice as hard because it’s coming from Tony.

“If I did, would you have believed me?”

The statement hits Steve like a rocket-propelled sucker punch.

“No,” he confesses honestly. “No, Tony, I would probably think you were faking it. And didn’t you say that it’s not supposed to be your time yet?”

Tony laughs, bitterness clear in this tone without the microphone and speakers to mask iit. “Yeah? Well, call _this_ fake my slicked-up fucking ass. The cramps motherfucking hurt like a bitch. You, alphas, are lucky that knotting is your worst problem. Imagine expecting this motherfucker every quarter.”

His chest rises and fall in exertion, causing more and more of Steve’s thick alpha scent to enter his nose. It’s not the first time that Tony’s smelled it. They done gym and shared a decontamination shower once or twice, but here Steve’s scent is heady, dark, and concentrated. While it does sooth the pain, it does nothing to alleviate the deep-seated _need_ gnawing in Tony’s belly.

Steve sees through the façade. His face turns serious.

“Tony,” he says darkly, “Tell me, why did you come _here_? You could have flown to medical.”

When Steve looks at him like that, Tony really can’t turn away. He breathes deeply, letting Steve’s tempting scent wreak havoc on his body. Because Tony is Tony, and he doesn’t use his words despite his mouth running a hundred miles per second, he tinkers with his suit and opts to holo-project his answer.

It displays Tony’s Heat Consent Form, and Steve’s name written down in Tony’s scratchy jagged scroll as his chosen alpha companion.

Steve can’t find his words. “Tony… that’s… this is… wh—when did you sign this?”

“Fuck it, Steve! That’s a big neon fucking sign that tells you to _fuck me_ and you have questions?!” Tony grits out through clenched teeth. His helmet _thunks_ against his knee-plate as he curls onto himself, muttering. “I signed that months ago. I was going to tell you when, you know—well, _before_ , my heat hit next month but—err… stupid mother fucking blue powder—but I got dosed with something, and the suit didn’t filter enough of it. So, yeah, err, heat.”

A heavy blanket of silence befalls them.

Tony holds back a whimper as another wave of cramps hit him full force.

Steve inhales loudly, then exhales.

“Come here,” he says softly. It’s one of the rare times that he’s used his alpha-voice in front of Tony. The response from Tony’s inner-omega is spontaneous—the suit releases Tony with another wheezing hiss and then Tony’s stumbling towards Steve on jelly-like legs. Steve catches him before he plans face-first onto the side of the bed.

“Oh, Tony.”

Steve gathers Tony into his arms, hands carding through Tony’s hair affectionately as they settle further onto his vibranium reinforced bed. Tony unconsciously lets out a purr at the contact. They fit together like two pieces of a puzzle—Steve’s back curves as his larger form curls protectively around Tony, and Tony coils his nearly-naked body tighter with hands pressed into his lower stomach.

“Steve,” Tony pants out a desperate moan.

Steve draws Tony closer with a large hand behind Tony’s sweating neck. “Shh, sweatheart, I’m here. I’m right here, Tony. I’m gonna take care of you—” he pauses when he feels the tantalizing bump near Tony’s shoulder, then exhales deeply, “I—thank you for trusting me when you’re like this. I’m going to make it good. I promise not to hurt you.”

“Don’t—” Tony groans, diggings his fingers into the threadbare fabric of Steve’s army shirt, “—don’t bite me. I’m… I’m not ready to be mated but I _need_ …”

Steve, ever the gentleman, tightens his jaw and draws back.

“Okay,” he agrees tightly but indulges in a leaning down and just _breathing in_ Tony’s delicious scent. It’s something he’s been wanting to do forever. “Okay,” he repeats again. This time, more for himself than Tony, “We’ll wait. We need—Tony we need to talk about that form and what we’re going to do… about this—about us.”

Tony’s right. Steve should have seen this coming but they’ve always been drawn to each other like opposite ends of a magnetic pole. A powerful invisible force keeps pulling them together no matter how hard they try to deny it. Maybe, neither of them has been willing to acknowledge it until now.

Tony bemoans in Steve’s arms. “Less talking, more fucking please. I can hear you thinking. At least give me your fingers, Steve—give me _something_ , damnit!”

Steve blushes beet-red at the command. His fingers move on their own, trailing down the knobs on Tony’s spine until the hem of Tony’s damp boxer. It’s obscene how the silky black material clings to the meat of Tony’s ass—where Tony’s scent is the strongest. More of that heady scent whiffs up when Steve finally dives inside.

“Yes,” Tony moans, head lifting up and bearing his neck instinctively. “Yes, Steve, sugar, baby, alpha, right there. I need you so much. I—fuck!” His back bowed when Steve finally plunges a finger inside. His hole squelches obscenely.

“Heaven, Tony, you’re so wet,” Steve grits out while holding onto to the last threads of his sanity.

“Of—of course,” Tony licks a long, wet line up the column of Steve’s neck, “all the better to tease you with, little alpha. Now, come on, fuck me like you mean it. Didn’t you say that you were going to make me feel good? Use those long thin fingers to make me squirm, _Captain_.”

For a moment, Steve’s blue eyes bleed into alpha-red. He wrestles his inner beast to take back control. While his humanity wins, it’s like a flip has been switched. He hauls Tony up into a kiss—diving into the hot wet cavern like it’s an oasis in the dessert. Tony tastes like coffee, chocolate, and maybe power bars. The explosion of flavors goes straight into his head.

Tony shoves Steve back, face a complete and utter wreak. “One day,” he says with promise, “one day I’m going to make you pay for that and mess your perfect pretty face up with my slick.” Steve moans at the image of it. “But, that’s for another day. Right now, I need you to fill me up—shove your big knot in my hole and wreak me—wreak me for everyone else. Make sure I won’t be satisfied with anyone but you.”

Steve growl sounds positively thunderous. It reverberates around the tiny space of his room, loud enough some birds outside flee their nests. Tony’s like a human-torch or maybe a furnace burning with pure unadulterated energy. His scent calls to Steve as a siren would captivate pirates in the sea.

“That’s right,” Steve declares, eyes going red one more. “You’re mine Anthony Edward Stark. I knew it since the first time I scented you. You’re my mate.”

Tony laughs a little a that, challenging. “Think you you’re not going to melt with all this heat, capsicle? Wait—ompft!” He wails, both from the Steve’s fingers drawing out and his whole world suddenly spinning.

With his enhanced strength, and the pheromone-charged mentality of an unconquered alpha, Steve easy maneuvers Tony to lie flat on the bed. Tony’s flimsy shorts rip with a high-pitch screech, then they’re discarded somewhere onto the floor.

“Steve what are you! Oh, fuck, yeah, that’s it, right there!” Tony’s moans break-off. His legs are hefted into the air with ease. Steve dives down and swallows Tony’s little cock. Shit, fuck, fuck! Steve! I can’t—alphas aren’t supposed to—fuck, _yes_!” His thighs twitch as Steve sheathes two fingers into his slick hole. His world turns white.

Steve loves the way that Tony opens-up to him. Right now, it’s both in an emotional and physical sense. His fingers spread and open Tony’s hole in preparation for his thick girth while one hands holds up Tony’s quivering thigh. His mouth, on the other hand, concentrates on sucking Tony’s brain through his tiny dick. Tony taste so good.

“Steve, Steve, Steve.”

Tony claws his fingers onto Steve’s scalp.

“Please,” he begs with deperation, normally soft brown eyes now flushed in omega gold, “Steve, I need you now.”

Now, really, super serum or not, Steve’s only a boy. How can he deny Tony anything?

He pulls away from Tony’s home then starts fumbling with knot of his drawstrings, pulling at the stubborn fabric until it gives, then pushing down the hem. His cock—long, thick, and an angry purpling color—juts out to slap him on the stomach, his know already half-formed. It involuntarily swipes a naughty line of precum up the back of Tony’s thigh.

A shudder runs down Tony’s whole body, down to his twitching toes. He curls his free leg around Steve’s middle. Steve wastes no more time. He lines up and his cock sinks inch by agonizing inch into Tony’s tight wet hole.

“Fuck,” they both groan simultaneous. Their scents intermingle.

It’s Steve’s turn to shudder once he’s fully seated. The pressure is too much. He releases Tony’s thigh in favor of balancing on his arms, one palm resting on his shield and the other pressing down the bed beside Tony’s tip.

“You’re so tight.” His eyes close. There’s just no describing what it feels like to be inside his omega.

Tony wraps his to other leg around Steve’s hip with a chuckle. He blushes a pretty pink when he sees half of Steve’s face shining with his slick.

“Oh damn that’s hot,” he says, running his fingers down Steve’s damp jaw. “Is it over? All that build for what… like five minutes? I’m not sure, little alpha, but junior down there feels like he’s still ready to go and make a bigger mess of me.”

Steve turns his head into the caress, tongue darting out to lick the slick clinging to Tony’s fingers. When he opens his eyes, all Tony can see is red—fierce alpha red that he’s never seen before because Steve keeps his alpha so highly guarded. He can feel his inner omega mewling with unbridled joy for being the cause of it.

“Let’s go, big guy,” he coos affectionately, lightly slapping Steve’s cheek. “Show me what you got.”

Steve moves. He doesn’t start slow or sweet. It’s brutal and fast-paced—almost animalistic as he pounds into Tony. A snarl forms on his salivating mouth. The bed rocks back and forth, bemoaning the abuse of Steve’s powerful thrusts on its reinforced frames. It holds solid but the mattress whimpers where Steve’s hands sink.

Tony can do nothing more but clutch onto Steve’s shoulders for the ride. He throws his head back and let’s go. His body moves on its own—chest opening, back arching forward, and legs winding around Steve’s hips. Then, out of the blue, there’s hot wet suction on one of his nipples. He howls.

“Steve! Fuck!”

Steve doesn’t break pace while he sucks Tony’s right nipple. His right bicep bulges as he keeps his shoulder bent. There’s nothing on his mind except _Tony, my omega, Tony, all mine_. His knot slaps onto Tony’s backside, trying to gain entrance to the sacred channel, but Tony’s clenched and tense. Even in his alpha-state, Steve’s instincts to protect his mate win over.

“Tony,” he croaks out, lifting his head to meet Tony’s golden eyes. “You’re going to rip if you don’t relax. Help me out here. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Tony blinks. His long lashes fan across his cheeks as he stares up at his alpha.

“Come here.” He walks his finger to the back of Steve’s neck, then reels the Steve closer. Steve’s forced to plant both hands beside Tony’s hips for balance. “There’s a knot bigger than a baseball about to go in my ass. Want me to relax, Steve? You’re going to have to distract me with that talented mouth of yours.”

Steve’s too eager to comply. He bends down, and presses their lips together. It’s not so much of Steve kissing Tony as it is Tony kissing Steve. They might be alpha and omega but what they have is a partnership. There’s no who is dominating who. It’s just them—Tony and Steve.

Tony relishes in the taste of Steve—apple juice and pecan pie with a hint of coffee. He flushes down to his chest when he realizes that he’s tasting his own slick from Steve’s mouth. It’s too damn hot for words and Tony’s to preoccupied to talk anyway.

Their kiss lasts forever.

Steve restarts his thrusts. This time, it’s slow but powerful—intent-filled with every thrust. They moan into each other’s mouths when his knot finally enters with a _pop_. Tony’s hands clench on the back of his neck, a silent please to keep kissing which he happily obliges in. His hands work their way from the bed and to Tony’s nipples.

“Steve,” Tony moans, hands tightening. “Fuck, it’s so good. My nipples, god, my nipples!” His ass clenches down on Steve’s cocks involuntarily.

“How can you still talk? God, you’re perfect, Tony, It’s okay, you can come,” Steve says, licking up Tony’s nose. “I’m not going to last longer either—not when you’re squeezing me so tightly.” He leans forward, allowing more of his weight to press Tony onto the bed. The action traps Tony’s cock between their bodies, sliding across sweat damp skin and the edge of Steve’s t-shirt.

“Fuck!” Tony shouts as he comes all over his stomach. White splotchy lines paint Steve’s old army shirt. His orgasm cause his back to pulse over Steve’s dick.

“Christ, Tony,” Steve groans as his orgasm rushes out of him. Wave after wave of his seed flood Tony’s channel. Tony gasps at the intensity of it—the hot semen licks over something inside him and makes his poor flaccid cock twitch as another spirt leaks out.

Steve flips them over again, settling on his back while Tony sits on top of him. He has to admit that the view is an added bonus to not crushing Tony with his full-weight. Tony’s a sight to behold—glorious, debauched, and absolutely breathtaking—that he wishes he had his pencils or some charcoal to sketch the sight.

Tony’s weight works with gravity to pull them closer together. He melts bonelessly into Steve’s broad chest, using one of Steve’s bulging pectorals as a pillow.

“That—that was good, Cap. Perfect. Outstanding. Awesome. Straight-A’s for America,” he blurs in exhaustion, arms and legs limp where they lay.

“Thanks,” Steve chuckles light-heartedly, bringing a hand to the bump on Tony’s shoulder as he looks down upon his soon-to-be omega mate.

“Later,” he says with so much promise as his fingers gently massage the swollen flesh.

“Ah—ahh—ahh, ohh that feels good but I’m not sure I can go again so fast.”

 “I’m in no rush, Tony. We can go again later or tomorrow or next week. I’m good at waiting. I’ll wait for you.” Steve leans down to kiss Tony’s forehead. “And, we still have to talk. Can you please, please, stop lying about your heats from now on? It worries me.”

“Yeah,” Tony mutters sleepily, obviously not paying much attention. “Yes, yes, whatever you want, Cap, as along as we get to go again.”

Steve rearranges Tony’s limbs so they’re not sprawled awkwardly in weird places. He scoops the drowning omega in his arms then lays Tony firmly on his chest, hands gently kneading the muscles on Tony’s legs to avoid cramps.

They’ve still got so much to talk about. Later cannot come soon enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for the following;  
> > Fairytale: The Boy Who Cried Wolf  
> > Bingo: Oh Crap!
> 
>  **Notes** : This is a one-shot PWP for now.Got like 5 days to write 4 more fanfics. Hot damn! 
> 
> If you have a prompt or an idea, you As always, **kudos/comments/bookmarks** are all appreciated by this author. I take comments as extra-kudos and I _do_ read the bookmark tags (some are really fun). 
> 
> If you have a prompt or an idea, you can [INSPIRE ME](http://arh581958.tumblr.com/submit) on tumblr. Or [TALK TO ME](http://arh581958.tumblr.com/ask).


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